be still
by Rudolphx
Summary: Avallac'h will perhaps never touch her, for his hands that have hurt - killed, shan't ever earn the forgiving softness of Aspen an Craite.
1. Chapter 1

Priscilla sat silently, and cursed the architecture of the Kingfisher, mentally throwing insults, for nobody should ever hear the screams of a child's last words. Everything that was whispered could be heard clear as day from the room atop hers, and subsequently convenient for her – the largest room of the tavern housed a Druidess. She accepted any person desperate enough to come knock on her door – usually it was curing a cold, stitching up a cut, tempering an antibiotics, though sometimes – such as tonight – there were certain despicable events that probably would be held within these walls for an eternity. Priscilla was a listener to a symphony of cries and groans, and if she didn't love Aspen an Craite, she was sure she would've relocated in a heartbeat.

But she loved her as her younger sister; Ever since Priscilla caught an extreme case of pneumonia and Aspen sat by her bed for almost two weeks straight.

 _"_ _I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"_ Priscilla bit back her tongue, trying not to cry for the situation she just witnessed. Though she couldn't help it, and recoiled unwillingly at the contemplation of the summary of the events.

A boy, perhaps ten to twelve, his voice cracking, rushing in with his mother and father – they were from a farm on the outskirts of town, a monster... Priscilla remembered the father mentioning a wild wraith sabotaging their village – and a small whimper, so pitiful and reserved, if it weren't for the crashing of items of Aspen throwing off her table to make way for the boy, Priscilla would assume it were some type of minority of a infliction, it wasn't. Aspen continued her tirade into her manservant, Sven an Hindar, telling him specific herbs she has stored away in case of an emergency such as this, and finally, as several moments passed, and Sven returned with the herbs, the boy broke out into sobs, blood curdling sobs that shook the entire Kingfisher – then silence, eerily quietness so still, not a breath was heard above Priscilla. The boy's mother stifled back cries of her first born child, and Aspen remained in her place, hovering over the boy, Priscilla assumed. Aspen always had an immense attention to detail, and Priscilla imagined the Skelliger drawing every inch of his face to mind – a soul she undoubtedly lost.

Then apologizes were whispered, both from Sven and Aspen, and the couple broke. Humans break all the time in that room above Priscilla – it was a wonder how Aspen held her composure, herself. Priscilla wondered if that room housed ghosts – the souls of every broken person that Aspen couldn't help. Perhaps Aspen was the broken soul, the beautiful Skelliger wraith that haunted the third floor of the Kingfisher, with the solemn and terrifying man always casted in her shadow – watching her every move with calculating grey eyes that would perhaps devour her soul if given the chance.

Sven an Hindar was infatuated with the girl. It was clear to see from the moment you meet the duo – how his eyes watched her with the idolization of a child seeing the sun for the very first time, and Priscilla is exactly what she was describe his situation as – a vampire, finally allowed the ever giving warmth of the sun.

There was a knock on her door an hour later after the grievances above her dispersed, and after Priscilla sat up in her bed, clad in nothing but a nightgown, and hollered for them to come in groggily, in strode Aspen.

Ashen hair tousled down to her waist, large golden eyes that caused one to wonder how such a warm color could look so void like, and predictably her white dress was covered in blood – it was everywhere, from her torso to her knees, and especially her hands, caked in the boys remnants, if Priscilla was weak of stomach, she knew she would vomit her dinner from six hours ago. Though she wasn't, and only held her arms open for Aspen to run across her room and shatter. This is where Aspen an Craite came to break – in her arms.

"He was only nine …" She whispered between sobs into her chest, "his heart was already failing by the time I laid him on my table…" Priscilla shook her back and forth as she soothed her with a humming, "I had to give him an herb for a painless death, I didn't know what to do…" and Priscilla forgot, she always forgot that Aspen an Craite was only a child herself at the mere age of fifteen. She wasn't an experienced medic, or a sorceress, she was a girl – barely old enough to rent her own room let alone tend to deathly patients. Though she knew a druid's morals, always taking in the sick regardless if they were qualified enough. Sometimes Aspen found herself elbow deep in a person's chest with an acute knowledge of what to do, and sometimes in walked a diseased individual whom she knew no qualms how to treat, it was always a gamble – and the selfless (or rash) girl always accordingly had a response.

Though, Priscilla wondered if this was worth her teenage years.


	2. Chapter 2

Triss stood idly in her backyard, scrutinizing the plants that adorned almost every square inch – from the stones walls to the cobblestone patio, the plants were adamant on creating a home out of the sorceress' property, and the redhead held no protest against this – she only wished that they were tidier.

There was then a knock on her fence, dainty little barely there touch, and without so much as a clarification for entering, in walked an ashen haired girl – and Triss' breath was caught in her throat as her heart stopped, her fingers paused from rearranging the flowers, and she was motionless staring at the girl clad in a white thigh high dress, and worn brown leather boots that reached just above the knee. It took her a moments realization that this was not her little sis, but Aspen an Craite. Triss wondered what the druidess wanted now, and continued the cultivation of her greenery, "What do I owe this marvellous visitation from the princess of Skellige?" Triss inquired sarcastically.

Aspen remained monotonic while her arms lingered behind her back as she peered at Triss quietly in observation, "those are hyfradollies, they grow wildly for about a month before dying – you should probably wear gloves when handling them, too much exposure can lead to a stain on the hands." The girl watched as Triss examined her hands, and almost immediately after her words, a dye of pink tinged her fingertips. She felt oblivious before tossing the ashen haired girl a ditzy smile, "I never was very good at herbalism in Aretuza. Anyways, my question still stands" and this is when Aspen revealed from behind her back a list of herbs in which Triss knew were either expensive, rare, or both. The only time the hermit Skelliger left her room was either to see the bookshop across the road from her home, or visit her whore elven friend that was employed by the Passiflora – so it was no surprise when Aspen began voicing such rare herbs, Triss wondered what kind of salve that she was trying to conjure, before it hit her, _she's not making a salve, she's making a stabilizer._

"Are you housing a vampire, an Craite?" Triss asked with a smile on her face, though they both knew that she wasn't joking, rather taunting her that she was aware – and if Aspen were surprised with the accusation, she didn't show it. "Yes, I am. Now please, I'd very much like the ingredients" she spoke, so sure and confident, Triss had to remind herself the privileged druidess was raised in a castle with manservants at her beck and call – she was spoiled.

"You know, I know an illegal vendor in Oxenfurt that could brew you up a strong dose of paraflaelym – he only asks to examine – " and the an Craite shook her head, "Sven can't be examined, he is cursed. It is a curse I am dealing with – he was not inflicted with vampirism, it was instilled into him. He is a higher vampire that cannot withhold his rage and resist the shift. Almost once a month, his thirst drives him insane, animalistic almost." Aspen always contained her emotions, they were always an imaginary thing to her, and for the past five months that Triss has known Ciri's relative, there has not once been a rise out of her monotonic façade, or a hesitant waver – Triss was sure those hollow eyes held no soul, she was just that, hollow.

"And how may I ask, do you contain his escapades?" Triss asked, and without missing a beat, Aspen rolled up her sleeve and held up her wrist which contained a bandaged wound. "I'd like the ingredients now, if you're finished your interrogation" Aspen murmured while unrolling her evidence of Sven's feeding, and Triss stared at the girl wonderingly before asking one more question, "why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because I know if you told somebody, they wouldn't know for long" she spoke simply, calmly, and Triss knew she was telling the truth – Sven was more loyal to her than the sky above them. Perhaps the only source of stability that the girl needed in her life, and Triss contemplated briefly that it wasn't a surprise why the girl was so emotionless and somewhat abyssal – she was surrounded by death, and the only person she held dear to her was dead himself.

"Come in, and don't think I haven't noticed your red nose, don't touch anything you sickly little wraith" Triss teased Aspen with her moniker, the wraith of Kingfisher, she wondered how the inn keep allowed for such a person to be housed in his tavern, though came to the conclusion that she was aloof to the idea of currency. She probably paid much more than she should have been – and Triss decided to visit Oliver perhaps sometime soon to converse about that.

"So this stabilizer you've drafted up, what are the chances he'll be sedated?" Triss questioned, scrounging through her chests for the items on the list, and naturally the girl asked for some of the herbs Triss seldom came across in her lifetime. "Sixty-eight chance of sedation, and thirty-two chance of comatose" she informed, finally rubbing her nose with the back of her hand somewhat shyly – embarrassed that she was ill.

"Well, I hope your sleeping beauty isn't just that." Triss handed her a pouch of the herbs and grasped the money Aspen was offering. Sure enough, the oblivious druidess paid more than its worth, and Triss hastily caught hold of Aspen's shoulder before she left out the door, and prayed whatever she had wasn't contagious.

"You need to learn that ten rare herbs don't equal five hundred coins, Aspen. I'm not selling you a human's heart," and she placed the pouch bag in her palm, though taking 200 of the currency beforehand. Aspen apologized before leaving, and before she was off Triss' property, she spun on her heel and smiled broadly across the courtyard, "thank you!" and Triss smiled back at her – for a moment, she spied Cirilla in those ghost like eyes, and her heart panged.


	3. Chapter 3

"Tell me, tell me every detail – I want to know the color of the clouds, the smell of the ocean, the touch of the tree, I want to know everything" Sven stared down at the mess of Aspen as her morning bed headed hair stuck in a cowlick, though her eyes remained alert despite the haziness of her lids, and she desperately tried staying awake, and Sven contemplated going back to bed, though haven't had the heart to deny her his dreams.

"It was a Tuesday," and that's all he said before plopping his head back into his pillow before Aspen sat herself on the wooden floor, and impatiently groaned at her friends reluctance to share his vivid dreams – he always slept with the memories of when he was whole, and Aspen swallowed them up like a starved animal, the stories of when they were children in Skellige with nothing but what to do that day in their little adolescent minds – and Sven understood why she was so adamant about his retellings. It was like she was taken back, it almost hurt him to remember.

Lifting his head back up as Aspen was tracing his curved nose with a barely there touch that could probably evoke a heartbeat from the dead with such astonishing precision, he wanted to grasp her little palm and kiss the finger tips that only performed healing in various ways – the day he dies would be the day Aspen an Craite would hurt another creature.

"Alright… I dreamt about my grandpa's sixty-fourth birthday – when my cousins wouldn't play with you, so Hjalmar invited you to play with us" and that's when she lost herself into his story, the once droopy eyes now open and urging him to continue, she knew where this was heading, but she loved the retelling in his perspective. "The day you stained my new dress," she allowed herself a small obscure smile and Sven appreciated every moment of those upturned lips that he adored.

He sat up on the couch where he slept, and nodded his head followed by a yawn, "Yes, that day, anyways... You sat at the table across the hall, wearing your impeccably white dress that I wanted to ruin, and your hair was littered with small daisies that spilled where ever you walked." Sven laughed at the idea of a ten year old Aspen, she was so naïve and dull minded, "you heard of a tree out back behind the hall that stretched so high it touched sky, and you told me to grab you a star – so Hjalmar and I raced to the top of the tree to see who was quicker, and of course the idiot was" Sven murmured, wrapping his blanket around his consistently cold body.

"There was no star, the tree didn't touch the sky, but before I could find you in town, we stole a rock from the ocean that gleamed a particular shade of indigo that almost matched the night sky, and gave that to you" his stoic ambience softened as he relished in the young ten year old excitement of Aspen when he gave her that mangy rock, "I still have that rock, you asses" Aspen smiled, though wrapped her arms around her body tighter, and Sven knew what happened next, though couldn't say it – couldn't explain it, the words were stuck on his lips, and hung there haphazardly as he stared down at Aspen wither and wither – she knew too.

He told her he loved her after he gave her that rock, and despite Hjalmar breaking his nose soon after his confession, he knew he still felt the same after all this time. Both the same people, same feelings, same hearts, though different souls – or on his behalf, lack thereof. Being soulless made him reckless, temperamental, possessive, and beastly. It took Sven awhile to realize that she was in love with the memories of him, instead of the person standing in front of her, and wonderingly, this didn't bother him one bit – he still loved her as much as he did when Hjalmar swung at him for feeling the way he does.

"I love you, you know" he mumbled, the morning air cold and unforgiving against his skin while she nodded her head slowly – staring at the ground, probably wondering what happened to them, "I know" she said, just as cold and unforgiving.

He opened his mouth to continue his memory of that night, although what interrupted him was a man – mysterious and clad in a cloak that only shown the bottom half of his face – stumble into the room, grasping the door handle in attempt to balance himself, though it didn't help his lightheaded equilibrium, and Aspen hastily jumped to her feet, the relaxing ambience vanishing as she pulled back his hood to find his jugular, though found instead the aristocratic sharp features of an Aen Elle elf, and she ushered Sven over, "He's still breathing, signs of exhaustion, dehydrated, bring him to my bed" she began, and he followed, lifting the man into her bed as she began tittering around her aerial garden, plucking herbs and began a fire to boil water.

She then stood by his side, checking his vitals, his pulse again, his temperature, and continued this cycle once more, before the elves eyes fluttered open for a moment and peered solidly up at Aspen, "Lara."


End file.
